


Old Dogs...New Tricks

by vandevere



Series: Allies [2]
Category: Werewolf (1987)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-10
Updated: 2019-12-12
Packaged: 2021-02-17 21:40:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21750166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vandevere/pseuds/vandevere
Summary: Eric Cord and Alamo Joe adapt to their new situation
Series: Allies [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1563307
Kudos: 2





	1. Chapter 1

_If anyone told me I'd be traveling with a werewolf, I would've said they were stark raving mad…_

But there Eric Cord was, riding shotgun in the passenger seat of Alamo Joe Rogan's GMC.

A year ago, Rogan hadn't even believed in the reality of werewolves.

Then, a werewolf had clawed its way out of his GMC, and Rogan's world had changed irrevocably.

The Bounty Hunter could have closed his eyes, turned away. The good Lord knew he _wanted_ to.

But Rogan had only ever known one way of dealing with things beyond his ken. Meet it head on, face to face.

He had known that going after a werewolf would change him too. But, surely, not like this…

He had run afoul of a madman, with a very specific axe to grind.

Lycanthropy…

Now, thanks to Julian Farrow, Alamo Joe had Eric Cord's blood in his veins.

A werewolf's blood…

He hadn't experienced the Change yet, although more than a month had passed.

_Maybe I'm not a werewolf…Not like Cord, at least._

There was a certain amount of relief in that. But that wasn't to say that Rogan had escaped completely unscathed.

Every time Eric Cord experienced the Change, Rogan felt it too, the heat, the fever, the agony of muscles, skin, and nerves seemingly rending, forming, and reforming…

But there were other things too…

Fevers that came and went without warning…Nightmares involving men and werewolves Rogan had never even heard of...

_Something's happening to me…_

He was feeling fine right now; and Eric Cord had had the Change just a couple of days ago.

According to Cord, that meant, barring unfortunate circumstances, there would be peace on that particular front. Maybe upwards of a week or even two.

Which meant Rogan could focus on another problem that was staring them in the face.

_Money…_

Rogan was running out of cash, and Eric had even less.

…..

"We're gonna have to stop for a bit and figure that one out,"

"You mean like Temp jobs?" Eric Cord noticed the road sing they were passing.

_New Bram Wood, 5 mi._

"Yeah," Rogan steered his vehicle toward the exit. "If we're going to keep on traveling like this, we're gonna need cash…"

Five minutes later, Rogan was parking his car in a free space, the local Downtown area spread out all around.

"Huh…" Rogan was looking at the bank next to the small diner.

It was one of those big National banks, with outlets all over the country. Which was, Eric Cord supposed, absolutely essential for a bounty hunter who would be required to travel all over the nation.

"I think I've got a little left in my travel account," Rogan explained. "It's what I used when on the road…"

"I figured that…" Cord replied as he followed the bounty hunter in.

Eric Cord waited in the small lobby, as Rogan went to the Teller's Station…

…..

Things seemed to go without a hitch. Rogan presented his Bank Card and ID to the Teller, along with a filled-out withdrawal slip. The Teller, a young woman with a nose ring, looked at his Bank card and his ID. Then, frowning slightly, with a whispered _excuse me,_ she scuttled off.

_Okay…That's not good._

Rogan glanced over to Eric Cord, standing quietly in the lobby. He had seen it too, was clearly preparing to intervene. A quick gesture from Rogan settled the kid down. Anything Cord might have thought to do would probably only make things worse.

The Teller returned with her manager, and Rogan felt a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach.

_What did I do? They've always been my bank. Never any problem with them before…_

"Joseph Rogan?" the manager spoke. "Out of LA?"

"You have my ID," Rogan kept his voice steady. "You know it's me…"

"It's okay, Mr. Rogan," the manager spoke soothingly. "You're not in trouble. You know a Julian Farrow? He set up a trust fund for you two months ago…"

He handed a sheaf of papers to the bounty hunter, who accepted them with trembling hands.

_What did the sonofabitch do?_

Rogan looked down at the papers in his hands. He had a basic understanding of what the papers were, and what the numbers represented…

_They're way up. In the stratosphere._

…..

Whatever the problem was, Rogan and the manager seemed to settle it with a minimum of fuss. After that, the bounty hunter withdrew some cash, stuffed a sheaf of papers in his jacket pocket, and headed back to Eric Cord.

But, despite the success, Rogan was ash pale, features grim.

"Rogan?"

"Get in the truck, Cord. Now."

"No lunch?"

"Not here," Rogan headed outside.

"We in trouble?" Cord followed.

"I'll explain…"

In spite of Eric Cord's questions, Alamo Joe wouldn't say anything until they were out on an Interstate.

"Are we being chased?" Cord finally got up the nerve to ask.

"No…" Rogan pulled the papers out of his pocket, handed them to Cord.

"What's this?" Cord looked back at Rogan. Rogan laughed mirthlessly.

"It's a goddam trust fund. Set up by Julian Farrow. We didn't escape. He let us go!"

Cord stared at the papers.

"He's made you a very rich man," he said. "Why would he do that?"

"Probably to keep tabs on us," Rogan was almost snarling. "Every time I make a withdrawal, he'll know where we are. We've got to disappear. We've got to go so deep and far even the Feds won't be able to find us!"

"Okay. Let's get some lunch somewhere, Rogan. Then, maybe we can find temp jobs for both of us, so we won't have to rely on Farrow's trust fund."

"We'd better…" Rogan muttered as he stepped on the accelerator, sending the GMC down the highway…


	2. Chapter 2

They had argued about it all day; what to do for employment…

Before running into Eric Cord, Alamo Joe Rogan had been a Bounty Hunter. Fact was, he still _was_ a Bounty Hunter.

"I still have my license," Rogan had said. "And it's something I do well…"

"As opposed to washing dishes and tending bar…"

"I've been doing this for almost twenty years…" Rogan parked the car in front of the local Sheriff's Office in Medford. He looked over at Cord.

"I'm not gonna turn you in, Cord, if that's what you're afraid of," he said. "For better or worse, we're stuck together; for the time being, at least. Got to talk to Eddie…"

"Eddie?"

"Eddie Armonni," Rogan explained. "Bail Bondsman. He was the one who originally hired me to track you down. I tell him I've given up on finding you, he'll be more than happy to send me after someone else. I find _him,_ I turn him in, and we get to eat for a couple of months, without touching Farrow's Trust."

Rogan was getting out of his GMC. Cord's hand on his arm stopped him.

"What do I do?" the kid asked.

"Stay in the truck," Rogan replied. "Don't let anyone see you."

The look on Eric Cord's face was priceless. It made Rogan smile.

He walked in to the Sheriff's Office.

A judicious display of ID, and he was allowed to use one of the office phones.

 _Hello?_ Eddie Armonni answered immediately.

"It's me," Rogan replied.

_Joe! Glad you called! Still after Eric Cord?_

"Well…As a matter of fact-"

 _Stop!_ Armonni cut him off. _Charges have been dropped. The kid's in the clear. One of those wealthy bigwig private dicks went over everything in the case, was able to prove it was self-defense._

"Uh…" Rogan took a second to collect his thoughts. "Could you fax it over?"

 _Same old Joe Rogan…_ he could hear Armonni's laugh over the line. _Gotta dot those Is and cross those Ts…_

"Yeah, Eddie. That's me in a nutshell. Now that Eric Cord's off the list, do you need me to find anyone else?"

_Yeah…Where are you calling from?_

"Sheriff's Office. Medford."

_Medford…Let me see…_

Alamo Joe could hear the rustling of paper. Eddie Armonni kept a notoriously messy desk. It was a wonder he could find anything at all…

 _Aha!_ Rogan heard Armonni's triumphant exclamation. _Found them! Rafe and Sheila Arcuri. Find'em, and get'em to Medford Jail, you net a cool six thousand each. I'll fax those over too…_

…..

Eric Cord was, to put it plainly, bored out of his skull. Fortunately, whatever Rogan was doing didn't take all that long; maybe fifteen to twenty minutes. The man came out, a folder, with what looked like files inside, in his hand.

He opened the driver side door, handed the folder to Cord as he got in.

"You found a job?" Cord looked down at the folder in his hands.

"Yeah…" Rogan started the GMC. "Husband and Wife. Robbed a bank in LA. But read the file on top first. Think you'll like what it says…"

Cord read the topmost file as Rogan pulled out of the parking space.

At first, he was a minute understanding what he was reading.

_My name on top…_

Cord quickly scanned the form.

"Oh my god…" Understanding finally hit. "They dropped all charges?"

"Congratulations, Cord. You're a free man."

"As free as I can be," Cord agreed. "Considering the circumstances."

"You could call your girlfriend, let her know," Rogan pointed out.

"And what?" Cord looked down at the paper that meant he was no longer hunted by the Law. "I'm still a werewolf, I still turn into this…beast. I don't want _that_ going anywhere near her."

"All right, Rogan nodded. "But we're going to save that file. Put it in a safe place."

"Why?" Cord asked.

"Because sometimes different agencies, and different jurisdictions, just don't…talk to each other. I've had it happen that way. I once wound up taking in someone who had already been cleared. We keep this on us, and make official copies. That way, your ass is covered…"

"All right," Eric Cord put the file in the Gove Compartment. Then he looked at the files on the Arcuris.

"How do we find these two?"

"We go to the Medford City Hall," Rogan parked in front of the afore mentioned public building. "Hearsay is that the Arcuris fled here, so we check Census Info, and check for relatives, and other individuals with similar names. When people go on the lam, they either never bother to change their names, like _you_ , or they make only minimal changes so they don't confuse themselves when they have to sign their names to anything; like rental agreements and such."

"Wow…" Eric Cord muttered softly. "I never knew how much went into…doing what you do."

"Bounty Hunters have to do research and study, same as any other detective," Rogan got out of his pickup. "You coming?"

…..

All told it took a little under a day. The perps hadn't even bothered to change their names. Now, Rafe and Sheila Arcuri were safely cooling their heels in Medford's Jail, and Rogan used the twelve thousand dollars to set up a new account in a different bank.

_Julian Farrow's Trust Fund can sit and rot for all I care…_

Some of it, three thousand, he planned to send to Madge, his Ex-wife, once the check cleared.

Right now, though, Alamo Joe had other things on his mind.

Over an early dinner at the local diner.

"Didn't realize the payoff was that good," Eric Cord said when they had gotten to the Coffee and Dessert. Rogan, not much of a sweet-tooth, had opted for a plain, black and bitter coffee. Cord had ordered a slice of Apple Pie.

 _Why not?_ Rogan shrugged. _It's a celebration. Eric Cord's no longer wanted by the law._

"The payoff's good because being a Bounty Hunter isn't exactly one of the safer jobs," Rogan sipped his coffee. "We were lucky with the Arcuris. They didn't put up a fight. Others can, and _do."_

A sudden stab of pain, behind the right eye, made him wince; pain also shooting down arms and legs.

"Rogan?"

"Check your hand," Rogan checked his hand too, for good measure.

Both Rogan's and Cord's hands were clear.

"What's happening to me?" Rogan muttered. Suddenly, he felt cold. Freezing cold…

"Okay…" he barely heard Eric Cord over the furious haze in his head. "Motel's right across the street. Can you make it?"

"I…think s-so…" his teeth were chattering.

"Is anything wrong?" the Waitress's voice.

…..

"Is anything wrong?" the waitress asked.

Eric Cord looked Rogan over. Sweat beading his brow, breath coming in sharp gasps, uncontrollable shivering…

"I need to get him across the street, to the motel," Cord slapped two Twenties, the charge _Plus Extra_ , on the table. "He needs to lie down."

"He's not having a heart attack, is he? Is it catching?" Alarm in her voice.

"No…and no." Cord looked up at her. "Can you help me?"

Fifteen minutes later, Eric Cord, and the waitress managed to haul Rogan into the small motel room, two twin beds, and lay him down on the nearest one.

"Thank you…" Eric Cord sent her off with an additional twenty as thanks for her help. Then, he turned back to Rogan.

The man had huddled in upon himself, shuddering uncontrollably.

"It's okay," Cord wasn't sure if Rogan heard, but a soothing voice was always a good thing in cases like this.

"Let's see what we can do…" By stages, Eric Cord had taken the sunglasses off, and the Stetson, had lifted Rogan enough to slip the denim jacket off, and covered him with sheets and a blanket.

He really couldn't do anything else.

Except to watch helplessly as Rogan rode it out…

…..

_It's night, the full moon keeping watch._

_He's dreaming. More to the point, he_ _**knows** _ _he's dreaming._

_He isn't a character in the dream acting out a sequence of events. He's the Passive Observer, the Disinterested Camera Eye that sees all…_

_He sees the First Werewolf…the Adam of Werewolves, the Monster that feeds, and breeds as it feeds, thoughtlessly creating others of its kind._

_And, as he observes, Alamo Joe Rogan realizes two very salient facts._

_That first Werewolf…The one who called himself_ _**The First, the Primal Originator,** _ _really was the very first of his kind upon Earth, long before the days of the Pharaohs of Egypt._

_And he came from…_ _**elsewhere** _ _._

_Elsewhere…_

_Another world…_


	3. Chapter 3

_Somewhere in Southwestern America, roughly ten thousand years ago…_

_It's a day of celebration, a day of joy. The Children of the Sun have all survived the rigors of life, have now reached the age of six years._

_The Boy has been told that his Papa is not his_ _**real** _ _papa, that his True Father is one of the_ _**Anu Tlatzen.** _

" _You are their gift to us," the priest said, bending down to look The Boy in the eye._

_The Anu were tall and golden, hair like the Sun, eyes like a cloudless sky, and they towered over The People like adults over children._

_Now, the Sons of the Sun were to meet their_ _**True** _ _parents. Three hundred boys and girls now stood there, before the great metal beast that was home to the Anu._

_There was joy in this meeting, yet also there was sadness. The Anu were leaving, perhaps never to return._

_That was why, the priest had said, they had gifted The People with their own seed, made sons and daughters to live with them._

_But now, before the Leave-taking, there would be one last festival to honor the Anu._

_The great metal gate of the…dragon…opened, and the Anu strode out, clad in their shimmering clothes._

_The Boy couldn't take his eyes off them. Tall, with hair like the Sun, and their brilliant blue eyes, they were so beautiful to look at._

_There was one with them, though, who was different. Of a height equal to theirs', his hair was long, straight, and black-like The People-but it was his eyes that were like the Sun, flashing golden in the early morning light…_

… _.._

Alamo Joe Rogan jerked awake. His memories of the day before were hazy, indistinct. They'd been at the diner. Now, he was here, wherever _here_ was...

_Where am I?_

Looked like a darkened cheap motel room. Eric Cord was a few feet away, in the other bed.

_Not a snorer, thank the lord…_

Rogan lay back down, tried to figure out that last dream, what it could possibly mean.

His delving into the lore on werewolves had also exposed him to a lot of Native American myth and legend. Also, his grandfather on his mother's side-a stern and forbidding full blood Comanche-had told him some tales when he was a boy.

_The Anasasi…_

Next to Area 51, the Anasasi were everyone's favorite Conspiracy.

Alamo Joe had never really followed the stories.

The real world was crazy enough, he had decided, without bringing creatures from fantasy and Sci-Fi into the mix.

Then, Rogan had met a werewolf…

If _those_ were real, how much else was real too?

Was that dream about the Anasasi? Were they real too?

And why did he dream that Julian Farrow was with them?

…..

Early morning, getting ready to leave. Eric Cord cast a wary eye over Alamo Joe. He seemed to be fine as he paid the motel fee.

But the attack he'd suffered at the diner yesterday afternoon…

It had been a bad one. The worst yet.

_Well…he's fine now…_

Business done; he was heading toward Eric Cord.

"Need to stop by at the Sheriff's again," he said to Cord. "Hopefully, Eddie will have more for us. Then, more ammo, if you're going to be my assistant."

Cord nodded. He already had a gun. But he only had a few silver bullets.

This time, Eric Cord was able to go into the Sheriff's office with Rogan. He wasn't wanted by the law anymore.

He listened as Rogan talked to Eddie Armonni over the phone.

They were in luck. A couple of Good Old Boys over in Bridgeton had knocked over a series of small grocery stores in the area. They'd been arrested, charged, and bailed. Then, they had fled.

So…more work for an enterprising Bounty Hunter.

Eric Cord filled the GMC's tank while Alamo Joe tended to the ammo issue.

Rogan returned with the ammo, and some forms for Cord to look at.

"What are these?" Cord looked up at Rogan.

"You're sort of…" Rogan shrugged awkwardly. "A trainee. There's a forty-hour course out of the LAPD, and a twenty-hour course for Bail Education. Don't think wither one of us want to get in legal trouble over this."

"When do I have to do this?"

"After we get the guys in Bridgeton is fine," Rogan said. "It'll make us working together more…legal…if you get my drift."

Cord did get it. He had only just been gotten out of trouble with the law. He slid the forms in his wallet.

"I'll get on it when we have the time."


End file.
